


will we meet again in the northern lights

by PugsOfHouseTargaryen



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Abaddon is Asami, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Korra POV, Matter of Life and Death, POV Second Person, Supernatural Elements, angel of death!Asami, emotions can make you do stupid things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-04 18:51:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16352228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PugsOfHouseTargaryen/pseuds/PugsOfHouseTargaryen
Summary: “If dying meant meeting you, then I have no regrets.”ORKorra always believed that nothing came after death—just the end of life.She never would’ve expected to meet what was quite possibly the most beautiful woman she’s ever seen in her life.*not as dark as it looks! happy endings are definitely a thing here*





	1. Before

**Author's Note:**

> I knooooow I should be doing Red String but I got so distracted by this idea (it came to me when my sister had to dress up as the angel of death for class) that I couldn't help myself!
> 
> this fic will probably have three chapters if not four! and I know the first chapter is really heckin short but the second chapter is ready and it's MUCH longer than this one and I'll be posting it in a few days.
> 
> just a little warning, this fic will be getting a little dark, BUT I SWEAR THERES A HAPPY ENDING
> 
> (the first chapter does nothing to help my statement but trust me on this one ayt)

You sometimes wonder if you were ever meant to live a peaceful life.

It’s unfair, really, how you could never seem to catch a breath before yet another curve ball is thrown your way. You'd think that having been wrongly sentenced to prison was enough punishment for whatever insignificant sin you've committed in the past, yet you also know—from experience—that even merely _existing_ would be made difficult for you by some higher entity that seemed to get off on your suffering.

It's always been about survival with the way you live—not quite _living_.

Though sometimes you wonder if it would be easier to just end things.

You imagine it would be easy—just slowly slipping into a never-ending darkness as you close your eyes, knowing for a fact that it's quite literally the last time you'll ever open them.

Oddly enough, you're not afraid. You think it would feel like a relief.

This isn't how you imagine you would leave your place in the world, though.

It's almost funny. You've spent a total of three days outside of prison—that wretched place—and life throws that same accursed curve ball.

You almost don't see the young girl skipping across the pedestrian lane, the night being at its darkest and you probably should've fixed your headlights ages ago but it always slipped your mind so you say _‘maybe tomorrow’_ again and again until days pass without your notice and you forget about it completely.

Ironically, it's when the girl completely freezes in place when you finally see her, and you panic. Two pairs of eyes grow wide as the distance grows smaller between your car and what _would_ be a dead child.

So, with all your strength, you twist the steering wheel and swerve to your right.

And just when you're about to breathe a sigh of relief, the hairs on your nape stand to attention and you just _know_ that something's wrong.

You just don't know what that something is—at least until you feel your breath being knocked from your lungs and your bones splinter and snap as your car crashes straight into a previously unseen brick wall.

And suddenly, you know what that darkness feels like—the one that closes in on your vision as you slowly fade away and you decide that it _doesn't_ feel like a relief like you originally believed because you're _dying._

You decide that you don't actually want to leave this world, no matter how unfair it is.

You decide that you want to _live._

You probably should be praying at this point, asking for forgiveness to that twisted higher being for whatever wrong you've done, but you force yourself to turn your head despite the blinding pain that now encompasses your whole being and you find the child running towards you. You can't hear much through the ringing in your ears but you're pretty sure she's shouting for help, so you try to give her a reassuring smile.

 _Probably should've worn my seat belt,_ is your last thought before the darkness envelops you in its cold embrace.

You find that death is surprisingly peaceful.

.

.

.

At least until you find your eyes opening once again.


	2. Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as promised, a much longer chapter that actually has Asami in it :)
> 
> same warnings apply: this story gets a little dark (we're dealing with death here, hon) and there are mentions of abuse, so be warned
> 
> also, this story is unbeta'd and I tried reading through it for any typos or grammatical errors, but if I missed any know that all mistakes are mine and I sincerely apologize
> 
> hope you like it! :)

For as long as you can remember, you've always loved snow.

You remember growing up in a quaint little house, a place you still consider home even after having to be taken away.

You remember waking up in a bed that's a little too big for your slight frame, but you've always rolled around in your sleep, so maybe the extra space was necessary.

You remember opening your eyes just as a shiver rolls down your spine from the distinct December chill in the air and the excitement from knowing what exactly you'll see outside.

You remember practically falling off the side of your bed as you scramble towards the large window by your door, blue eyes wide as they peek just over the windowsill because you're not quite tall enough to see outside without having to stand on the tips of your toes.

You remember the hitch in your breath and the awed little  _ ‘wow’  _ that escapes your lips at the sight of frozen moisture floating down from the gloomy sky, despite the fact that you've been seeing the same thing for months in the past seven years you've been alive.

Alive.

And just when you started to accept that maybe the sight of twisted metal and broken glass and a child screaming for help was the last thing you'll ever see, your vision is filled with familiar drifting specks of white.

Specks that, you realize, look eerily like snowflakes and suddenly you feel like you're seven again.

There's an expletive nearly spilling from your lips because you just can't help it but you find yourself immediately clamping your mouth shut when you pause and take in your surroundings.

And for reasons you can't even begin to fathom, you're standing at the edge of the frozen lake you and your parents used to skate in before they died and you had to move in with your uncle in a completely different country.

You remember despising the place because of the lack of snow—but deep down, you know it's because it only solidifies that fact that your parents left you alone.

You're too busy questioning whether this is all just an elaborate dream where one scene blends into another when a voice you're not familiar with speaks up.

“It's quite beautiful here, isn't it?”

You quickly turn towards the direction of the voice and you're sure the motion should've given you whiplash if this was real—which you're pretty sure is anything but.

You find a woman casually sitting on the ice and you only assume she's a woman due to her long dark hair and slender but rather lithe figure, but you can't be too sure since the stranger wasn't even facing your way, instead seemingly focused on building a—

You blink. Yup, she's definitely making a snowman—of all things, really.

Seeing her do something so mundane and familiar feels oddly calming when the world as you know it is spinning around you. “Where are we?” you ask, because you're really trying to make sense of what exactly is happening to you.

“Why don’t you tell me?” the woman says simply as she swipes at more snow, seemingly oblivious to your eyes practically boring into her back. “It is—after all— _ your _ subconscious that brought us here.”

Her words only bring a furrow to your brow. “Who are you?”

The woman only shrugs her shoulders ever so slightly, the sharp lines of her shoulder blades lifting under her shirt like jagged wings, but the movement was nearly imperceptible that you begin to think that you only imagined it. Or if you're possibly losing your mind.

“Think of me as your guide on this trip.”

And that really doesn’t help your confusion at all and the way that she speaks—it kinda sets you on edge. “Where are you leading me exactly?” you prod tentatively.

You think you see the hands that were busy patting down the rounded clump of snow falter slightly, and the woman takes a second before answering you. 

“It depends—would you say that you lived a good life, Korra?”

You don't know whether it's the question or the fact that this stranger knows your name that shocks you more, but either way you find your heart picking up its pace as you take a cautious step back. 

“Who are you?” your words come out as a whisper but something tells you that the woman can hear you perfectly but you watch with wide eyes as she doesn't do anything about it, the stranger catatonic as you feel panic start to seep into your bones and your voice raises to a shout, “Why won't you face me?”

A sigh. “I don't think you'd want me to—no one does, based on past experiences.”

And despite your clouded thoughts, you realize that the woman sounds extremely tired, and suddenly she reminds you of your last thoughts before the car crash.

That it would be easier to simply end your life. 

Gradually, you start to feel your fear slowly fade away, and you take a step forward, snow crunching beneath your feet.

You subconsciously reach out a hand, biting your lower lip slight in contemplation before releasing a shaky breath. “I need some clarity right now and given how nothing else seems to make sense, I really need to feel like I'm not alone—please.” your voice cracks as you speak but you don't bother to hide it.

And maybe you say something right, because the once tense shoulders in front of you sag in defeat and it's not too long before the woman shifts—slowly, ever so slowly—until she's completely facing you.

There aren't many occasions that you find yourself speechless, but goddamnit if you can't find any words at the moment because while you aren't sure what you expected in the first place—this certainly wasn't it.

The woman glances down at her hands as she brushes it free from any remaining snow and if you didn't know any better, you'd think she was looking away in shame. 

“Are you satisfied now?” she says with a hint of bitterness.

And you really don't know the answer to that question because you find yourself in front of what _would've_ _been_ a startlingly beautiful woman. 

Under normal circumstances, you know your eyes would linger on her sharp cheekbones, on porcelain skin that seems impossibly flawless, on sleek raven-black tresses so dark that it nearly looks purple at the right angle, on the plump lips with a color akin to blood, or even the small crease between shaped eyebrows as the strange woman furrows them in what almost looks like worry.

You would've noticed just about every single little thing about this woman if you weren't so focused on the fact that curling around the arch of her skull, two dark horns protruded from below her hairline, and  below her delicate eyebrows were two dark hollows, empty sockets, where her eyes  _ should've been. _

Maybe if you were in the right state of mind, you probably would've run screaming at that point—but nothing about this situation, you realize, conforms with anything you thought you knew. 

Instead, you're hit with a wave of dizziness and you suddenly feel the need to sit down, so you do. The ice feels cold through your jeans and you absently wonder why tactile feeling is still possible now that you're here. 

You also realize that your crossed legs are touching the woman's at the knees and oddly enough, the slight warmth the contact provides grounds you, enough so that you find the courage to release the words sitting behind the seam of your lips.

“This is real, isn't it? I actually died in that car crash?”

Your words prompt the woman to finally meet your eyes, two seemingly bottomless caves staring at you with what almost looks like pity. She simply dips her chin in a nod.

“And you decide whether I go to heaven or hell, right? That's your job.”

It takes the woman in front of you a second to process what you just said before her lips part slightly in surprise, dark eyebrows once again coming together in a mixture of confusion and worry and, you think, maybe a little bit of fear. 

But, another second later, the fear washes away from her features and you're sure if you squint hard enough you could see the walls she's building around herself. “I really don't know what you're talking about. I told you that all of this was constructed by your own mind and my presence is only part of it—”

“Abaddon.” you say and you hear her mouth clamp shut with a click.

Her surprise is more evident now in her arched eyebrows, in the way her lips attempt to form words before settling on, “How do you know that?”

You'd love to answer, you really do—if only you actually  _ knew  _ what to say. All you know is that the name popped into your head without your notice, only realizing it when the word has escaped your lips.

So you shrug before your own eyebrows furrow in confusion. “I'm not sure,” you say, features thoughtful. “I just knew I suppose.”

You can practically taste her incredulity in the air. “No one—not a single soul—has ever known my true name.” she mutters in disbelief and you don't like the way her stare feels on you, but not because it feels unpleasant. 

Far from it, actually—more like she was trying to pick you apart and the thought of her attempting to see who are you are and whatever wrong you've done makes you uncomfortable because for some reason, you don't want her getting the wrong impression of you. 

You convince yourself it's because she’s the one who decides your fate when all is said and done—never mind the fact that you're completely ignoring the way your heart skips a beat when you take in how beautiful this woman is. So you divert the attention. 

“I wasn't the most attentive student, but I do recall that Abaddon is the angel of death, the one responsible for torturing souls.”

_ Not the most flattering thing that has ever come from my mouth,  _ you think to yourself while resisting the urge to slap a hand against your forehead.

Luckily, Abaddon doesn't take it the wrong way, instead casually leaning back on her hands against the frozen lake as she seems to forcibly push away her shock. You're sure she would've been rolling her eyes at your words if she had the ability to.

“You humans were always so dramatic,” she scoffs. “Yes, I'm the one responsible for what happens after death—but no, my existence does not revolve around making your lives miserable.” You breathe a sigh of relief upon realizing that the woman did not take offense at your comment.

“You're also decidedly not male,” you say offhandedly because you can't seem to keep your mouth shut. Cherry on top of the sundae is you giving her a once over without quite noticing. 

It's only when you see her raised eyebrow do you realize what you just did. You cough awkwardly as you feel a blush burning the skin of your cheeks.

Abaddon—bless her—seems to decide to spare you, the slight quirk at the corner of her lips the only indication of her amusement while all you want is for the ice to break under you. At least then you can save yourself from the embarrassment.

It doesn't take long for her to become serious once again, her head tilting slightly to the side and you know she's studying you again. “You're being awfully casual about all of this,” she remarks. “Most would be raving mad at this point.”

You lean forward until your elbows are resting on your knees, your body parallel with the one in front of you. You shrug. “Well, my life has always been about learning to deal with what I'm given—even if I don't like it.”

“You learned that the hard way, having been sentenced to prison for a crime you didn't commit.”

And you almost fall on your face as your elbows nearly give out from under you because along with her words—it's uncanny how she seems to know everything about you—you think you see a flash of emerald in the dark pits that make Abaddon’s eyes.

You're pretty sure your mouth is agape with how intensely you're staring at them, but the flash of color only occurs for a second before the dark orbs are back to its original color and it's as if nothing had happened and you're beginning to think you simply imagined the change.

You still think that it was quite possibly the most beautiful color you've ever seen.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts and try to focus on more important matters. “What else do you know?” you ask cautiously.

She makes a vague gesture with her hand, the action so casual yet the slight frown on her face shows you how disturbed she actually was. “You were only ten when you took the blame for your uncle nearly killing his children and disguised it as an accident, which didn't matter because you were still detained.” you're not entirely certain, but you think you hear a tinge of anger in her voice.

Resigning yourself to the fact that this woman actually  _ did  _ know everything about your life, you scoot over to the unfinished snowman at her side. A shudder rolls down your spine when your arms brush, at the unexpected warmth radiating from the contact but you try to ignore it and instead focus on packing together a clump of snow.

“I'm pretty sure he pulled some strings and made use of the people he meets as senator, making sure the blame really did get pinned on me,” you shrug, feeling an eyeless gaze studying the side of your face intently but you ignore that too. “He was an influential man and he couldn't afford even the slightest chance of the public thinking that I wasn't actually the one at fault.”

“Why did you take the blame? You never owed him anything.”

You shrug again, keeping your eyes focused on your hands because you don't think you can handle looking at literally the only being who knew the truth besides yourself.

“He’s family,” you say simply.

You weren't really sure earlier, but now there's a clear growl in Abaddon's voice. “Does  _ family _ make sure you go straight to jail when you get too old for juvenile detention centers?”

And you literally have to struggle to keep hold of the ball of snow in your hands because—well, you're in a slight state of shock and you don't know what to make of her now.

It isn't so much as the words that came out of Abaddon's mouth that surprised you so much, but the amount of emotion laced in her voice. Her possibly feeling anger at the unfairness of your life feels wrong, but at the same time, so  _ right. _

It feels  _ intimate. _

That realization shocks you some more, right down to your very core and you can't help but study her the same way she’s been studying you because something tells you it isn't very often she sympathizes with the souls that come her way. She has probably dealt with countless sob stories a thousand times worse than yours.

So, you wonder, what makes you any different?

“I never said my family was perfect, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't do everything for them—even if it comes at my own expense.” you say quietly.

She doesn't seem to have anything to say to that and you continue finishing the snowman she started. It doesn't take long before you feel her shift beside you, scooting closer to help you, though you can still her fuming at the corner of your eye. 

It's odd, really. You just  _ died _ a few minutes ago—at least, that's what it feels like but you have a feeling time isn't an important concept here—and yet here you are, building a fucking snowman of all things, with the angel of fucking  _ death  _ of all people, like there's nothing else you both would rather be doing.

You tell yourself that you shouldn't feel so relaxed around her.

You also fail to ignore the tingles that run up your spine every time your shoulders brush.

Like, you get it. You can't deny that you find the woman beside you physically attractive—probably the most beautiful woman you've ever seen in fact, despite her glaring differences—but that doesn't explain why you feel the need for her to like you, nor does it explain the way your heart is currently trying to beat out of your chest.

Now, you're aware enough to know that what you're feeling sounds way too much like a crush in real life, but something about that statement seems off somehow. Lacking.

You're too busy reminding yourself  _ what _ exactly Abaddon is to even consider the prospect of your feelings revolving around more than just physical attraction—never mind the fact that you just met her, because you don't think rules of dating apply to this reality either—to realize that the subject of your thoughts just finished the ball of snow serving as the head of the snowman, her hands giving a small clap as she put it in place with a flourish.

You also only realize then that you're positively staring at her at this point when she turns to you with a raised eyebrow.

“Is something wrong?” she asks.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts and force yourself to avert your eyes as you struggle to come up with something to say. Your eyes land on the snowman before you and you awkwardly raise a hand to gesture at it. 

“It isn't complete,” you say dumbly, mentally crossing your fingers that she'd somehow accept the lame excuse.

She slowly drags her gaze from you to the said snowman, her eyebrows furrowing as she tilts her head slightly to the side as she studies it. You nearly slap yourself when a little voice in your head reminds you how much you find the sight endearing.

“I don't quite understand what you mean,” you can't help but find the clear confusion in her voice adorable and you fight the urge to actually slap yourself.

You clear your throat and smile at her awkwardly, hoping and praying that mind reading isn't in her arsenal. “He’s still missing a nose.” you explain, all the while pushing back the urge to do something stupid.

Her confused expression turns thoughtful, the crease between her brows easing slightly. "I apologize, it's been a while since I made one of these,” she offers as an explanation and you find that she looks strangely sheepish.

You watch as she waves her hand casually and suddenly there's a carrot in your hand. You don't have time to be surprised at this though, since you're too busy staring at her in question. Something about her words seems odd to you somehow. 

“You made a habit of building snowmen before this?” you ask, half teasing and half curious at the same time. She gives you a self-conscious shrug, but her smile is somewhat teasing.

“I was human once too, you know.”

And you don't know what to do with that information and she takes the incredulous look on your face wrongly because the teasing light in her eyes disappears slowly but surely, her once soft smile sharpening at the edges and the dark holes that make up her eyes are suddenly sorrowful. 

“Hard to believe, isn't it?” she says quietly, diverting her gaze once again to avoid your eyes.

You shake your head to keep her from getting the wrong impression. “Not at all,” you assure.

And you want to explain the feeling in your chest, the tug you've felt from the very moment you've set your eyes on her and only grew as each minute passed, to voice out the unexplainable  _ pull _ you feel but you can't find the right words and all that comes out of your mouth is painfully lacking.

“You're kind of wonderful.” 

You're actually considering that you should start counting how many times you've felt the urge to slap a hand to your face with how pathetic you're acting, but she's looking at you again—so softly, so tenderly—that you think that maybe you've said something right for once.

It's her turn to shake her head. “You don't know what kind of person I am, Korra—the kind of things I've had to do,” she says sadly as she gestures vaguely at herself, her mouth twisting in what seems like shame. “Human beliefs of my existence aren’t exactly unfounded—it’s who I am.”

You allow a thoughtful pause, weighing her words and without considering the consequences of your actions, you place a hand on hers.

“That may be, but there’s a lot more to you than the things you’ve done in the past,” you say firmly, willing her to listen. “You’ve been nothing but comforting since I came here and the person I’ve been with this whole time? That’s the only thing that matters to me, not what everyone else says.”

The half-hearted quirk of her lips and the warmth of her skin beneath yours pushes you to continue.

“If dying meant meeting you, then I have no regrets.”

Her gaze drifts downwards and you can almost feel it lingering where your hands met on her lap. Maybe she was studying the contrast between your skin colors. Maybe she was reveling in the warmth the contact provided like you are. Maybe she sees something you couldn't.

“You really are something else, aren’t you,” she muses.

You'd never truly know what was going on in that beautiful head of hers, nor would you ever understand the look she gave you when she lifted her gaze to meet your eyes once more.

“How did you die, Korra?”

And her words nearly steal the breath from your lungs because while you've been waiting for the topic of your actual death to come up, you're not quite sure what to do with it now that it's staring right at your face. 

You feel her hand shifting beneath your own, the warmth spreading as she laced her fingers in the spaces between yours and it's only then that you realize you're shaking. Closing your eyes and willing yourself to calm down, you focus on that warmth.

Images flit through the backs of your eyelids and reliving the last few moments of your already miserable life is cathartic. 

“A car crash,” you say. “I swerved into a wall trying to avoid hitting a kid crossing the road.”

The child flashes in your mind, the sight of tears streaking down a young face as she runs towards you in panic, all the while screaming for help that didn’t come soon enough. 

A sad smile graces your lips. “You’d think I would feel some sort of anger or resentment for the kid, at least a little bit—because if she hadn’t crossed the road at the wrong time, I could still be alive right now.

“But I only feel relief,” you admit. “Relief that I know I wasn’t the cause of ending a life that had barely begun, and maybe a little bit of regret for now being a memory a child could never forgive herself for.”

You finally open your eyes and your breath hitches when you feel a light touch beneath your jaw. Unwilling to break the sudden tension that had formed without your notice, you look at her questioningly as she gazes back at you with what almost looks like asking for permission. She looks unsure of herself, delicate eyebrows pulling together ever so slightly but you swallow the lump in your throat and nod your assent, despite having no idea what she was asking you for.

You fight to stay still as the other woman slowly starts to explore with the fingertips she has on your skin; going over the smooth curve of your cheek, down the line of your nose, brushing the arch of your eyebrow. You watch as her eyes trail after her fingertips with an intense focus, as if committing everything she can to memory with both sight and touch.

And suddenly the gentle hand following the line of your jaw reaches around to the back of your neck and you’re guided forward until your lips land on something extremely soft and wonderfully warm. Your vision is filled with closed eyelids and your own instinctively do the same.

_ She’s kissing you,  _ a small voice in your head says and you push the thought away because you don’t want to think about anything else aside from the shiver-inducing glide of lips and the small sigh entering your ears.

You vaguely register a drop of moisture landing on your cheek when you lose contact with those lips and your eyes open to watch the woman in front of you pull away with her eyes still closed and her hand still tangled in your hair. The dark eyelashes on high cheekbones are undeniably damp and you watch as Abaddon’s throat bobs ever so slightly. 

“Do you believe in second chances, Korra?” she asks quietly.

You feel your eyebrows furrow in your confusion. “What do you mean?” you ask tentatively.

Then her eyelids open once more, and suddenly you’re faced with the most beautiful eyes you’ve ever seen. 

Gone were the black holes that made up Abaddon’s eyes, replaced with bright green orbs that shone with unshed tears.

The half-hearted smirk she gives you sends your heart skipping a beat. “It means you haven’t had the chance to fully live your life—and that I am the Angel of Death and death conforms to me.”

She slides her hands until they rest on your shoulders, squeezing firmly. “It was nice meeting you, Korra,” she says, a smile gracing her lips and you can’t decide whether it’s happiness or longing lingering in her eyes. “But I hope we never meet again for a very long time."

You don’t even have a chance to put a word in—most likely to ask her what she means once more or ask her to explain why this felt too much like a goodbye—before the hands on your shoulders give you a hard shove. 

You expect to hit the ice of the frozen lake beneath you, but your breath is stolen from your lungs when you feel freezing water slap against your back.

You feel dread start to course through your veins and by pure instinct, you shoot out a hand and grab onto the woman’s retreating arm. You can feel your body slowly sinking into the water, shapeless arms pulling you towards its depths but you pull harder at the arm in your grasp to keep afloat. 

“Tell me I’ll see you again,” you beg—and maybe you’re absolutely losing it at this point, because you find yourself smiling. “Under better circumstances, of course.”

Then the woman is laughing; an honest-to-god genuine laugh that settles deep within your bones that you wouldn’t mind dying once more just to hear it again.

Her green eyes are gentle as they settle on you when her laughter dies down and you wish you had the ability to control time, just so you can stay in this moment and bask in that warm gaze.

“You know me as Abaddon, but when I was human—” she says suddenly, grabbing your attention so you don’t notice the way her other hand wraps around yours. “I much prefer Asami.”

Then your hand is pried from the arm you used as an anchor and you’re sinking into the water once again, much quicker this time. You barely have time to clamp your mouth shut after the gasp that escaped your lips before the water envelops you completely and the fantasy world you were in fades to the background as you fall deeper.

And right before you slip into unconsciousness, a voice that isn’t your own whispers in your ear.

_ “I will find a way, Korra.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp, that happened.
> 
> one more chapter guys!
> 
> as usual, any form of feedback (kudos, comment, bookmark) is greatly appreciated! 
> 
> let me know what you think! :)
> 
> .  
> .  
> .
> 
> side note: I'd also love for someone to draw the Asami I have in this story if anyone would be so kind cuz that would be amazing :>


	3. After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so last chapter guys!
> 
> For those of you who are curious and for the concept behind this story, Abaddon is known as the angel of the abyss in the Hebrew bible, sometimes referred to as the angel of death (which is what I used). Abaddon is said to cause torture for humans and some say responsible for leading souls to the afterlife. I used both for this story, only changing some parts like Abaddon being human once and can still have human emotion. Jehovah is also the Hebrew name for God.
> 
> I wouldn't call myself religious nor knowledgeable in stuff like this, but I did do some light research for the story. I do hope that none would be offended by this story and my slight use of religious factors, but like they say, all in the name of fanfiction!
> 
> Once again, this story is unbeta'd therefore all mistakes are mine and I apologize if there are errors I may have missed.
> 
> That being said, hope you enjoy this one!

If someone asked you what the oddest thing you could remember from your childhood was, you’d probably answer police sirens.

Before your parents died, you would usually find yourself stuck at home after coming home from the small school a few streets over.

Your mother was always particular about you getting your homework done before you could go and play with your friends. You would do so, but most of the time you’d be too mentally exhausted from the task that you couldn’t find the energy to do much playing after that.

_“Aww, tired already? That’s too bad.”_ your mother would say.

In retrospect, mom had probably planned for that to happen the whole time.

Your father was part of the police force so he never came home the same time you did. So, instead of groaning about how much life was _so_ hard—eight-year-old you never truly understood that there were bigger problems than having to do math worksheets—you’d perch on the couch in the living room, watching your mother cook the night’s dinner as you wait for the room to awash with distinct red and blue lights coming from the window behind you.

The lights were the first sign, but it wasn’t until you heard the familiar wail of a siren did you jump out of your seat to run towards the front door.

You’d throw the door open with a wide smile and before you know it, strong arms are wrapped around your tiny frame and you’re being swung around in a circle.

You remember your father’s loud laughter.

It’s only when you scream for him to let you down because the world is starting to get a little wobbly does he let you go, a wide smile on his handsome face as he reaches down to ruffle your already messy hair.

_“Anytime now, I’m sure the department will fire me for using the siren when I don’t have to,”_ he would say, the conversation routine for both of you and so was the nearly identical wide smile you’d give him. People would always say that you inherited your father’s up-to-no-good smile.

_“You tell them I told you to do it, so they’ll just have to deal with it!”_ you’d reply as per usual, crossing your arms over your puffed up chest, trying to look bigger than you actually were—and failing.

But he would only chuckle good-naturedly and agree with you with that same smile before scooping you once more into his arms and carrying you to the kitchen, always asking about your day and if you ran into any trouble— _preposterous_ idea, you would think.

He would hold you close as he leans down and places a kiss on your mother’s lips, murmuring _I love you_ ’s against her lips, his arms locking around you when you try to wriggle away from the sight.

_“Gross!”_ you would always say.

It’s easy to take advantage of what you're used to—only looking back when you realize how much of a good thing the normal things were.

You remember hearing your teachers talking a few weeks later, muttering under their breaths but even someone your age could see the panic in their eyes through the tiny window of the classroom. You were standing in the hallway, the area freakishly empty with how much you’re used to seeing it filled to the brim with smiling faces and bright laughter, but figured that the abandoned feeling was normal at that time, judging by the clock that hung on a nearby wall and the dark of the night outside.

You remember your favorite teacher coming out of the classroom with a smile on her face, but you could clearly see the uncertainty clouding her eyes and the other teachers watching you worriedly from over her shoulder. She had extended a hand toward you, offering you a ride home since neither of your parents seemed to be answering their phones. Despite the dread you never had the chance to feel before, now settling deep within your stomach, you nod and let her lead you to her car.

It was half past nine when you finally see those familiar red and blue lights and suddenly you could breathe again. Your father could explain why neither he or mom picked you up, you think. He would reassure you. He would tell you that everything was fine.

But it wasn’t him on the other side of the front door.

You remember the policeman. He was close to your father, given how they worked together everyday.

You remember vaguely registering his words as he knelt down to your level, his eyes conveying despair and grief that could never measure up to yours.

_“Your parents aren’t coming back home, Korra.”_

You think that the normal reaction of a child receiving that kind of news they would never want to hear is to break down and cry, maybe scream at the man for lying, maybe beg to whatever higher being was listening to send your parents back.

But all you could do was stare at the man's car from over his shoulder, at the flashing blue and red lights that _used_ to mean your father was home.

 

* * *

 

And you don’t know if you’re absolutely hallucinating at this point, but when you open your eyes, you’re pretty sure you see those two colors blinking at the edge of your vision.

But you’re literally unable to think about anything else after that because blinding pain slams into your consciousness and you suddenly remember that you just went through a car crash.

“Stop moving! Please!” an unfamiliar voice urges and you force your eyelids open. You hadn't even realized they had closed initially from the pain.

It’s the girl, you realize. The one that had been crossing the street.

You pause and try to focus to take account of your surroundings, despite the urge to slip back into unconsciousness. It’s impossible not to notice the brick wall in front of you, the same brick wall that you had crashed into. Your car is in shambles, the once recognizable blue metal twisted and crumpled beyond repair at the front, the windshield completely shattered as pieces of it cover the dashboard and the hood beyond it. Luckily, the car’s airbag seemed to work when you needed it the most, now deflated on your lap but you can still feel the trauma the skin of your face took from the impact.

You don’t bother looking down at yourself, mostly because you can practically _feel_ the damage on your body, but also because just the mental image of your mangled limbs is enough to make you feel sick—so you force yourself to focus instead on the girl crouched right outside what was once the car’s window.

She’s watching you worriedly and amidst the chaos around you, the sight of her panicked face is grounding somehow. You can see her hands hovering awkwardly in the space between you both, obviously struggling with the urge to touch when she really wants to comfort you.

You give her the same reassuring smile you gave her when you saw her running towards the wreck, despite the sting the action causes you. “What’s your name, kid?” you croak, wincing slightly at the sound of your voice and ignoring her surprise at your question.

She seems hesitant, but she answers you anyway. “Jinora,” she says.

You smile despite yourself. “I see you’re unharmed—at least one of us made it.”

Her initial hesitation quickly morphs, twisting her soft features into something terribly guilty and remorseful and you immediately feel bad for unintentionally making her feel that way, so you try to grab her attention when she looks away in shame.

“Hey,” you say quietly but firmly, not continuing until she finally meets your eyes. “It’s not your fault okay?”

It takes a second, and suddenly the girl breaks before your eyes—her barely composed mask cracking as the tears she’s been holding back finally streak down her face. Barely incomprehensible words spill from her lips a mile a minute and you know she’s trying to apologize.

You shake your head, the movement sending a wave of dizziness through you and the possibility of passing out is greater now but you push through the haze closing over your mind.

“Stop,” you slur and you wish you sound stronger but the girl listens so that’ll have to do for now. “Repeat after me—it is _not_ your fault.”

“But—”

_“Do it.”_

She looks like she wants to argue, but all it takes is a soft glare from you before she relents. “It’s not my fault,” she says with no small amount of uncertainty.

“Once more.”

She releases a breath before looking at you straight in the eye. “It’s not my fault,” she repeats, this time with more confidence. That pushes a smile out of you.

“That’s it,” you encourage weakly before you can’t handle it anymore and your head slumps forward as the shock your body has gone through finally settles.

You’re pretty sure you can hear her panicking, shouting for you to stay awake while sirens wail in the background, indicating that help has finally arrived.

You conclude that your mind actually _is_ giving up on you because you think you hear a familiar voice talking to the girl—and in that hazy state, you have a the lingering feeling that you should be remembering something, _someone_ —and you struggle to stay awake because you just _need_ to see where the voice is coming from.

The need to succumb to darkness wins out though, and behind your closed eyelids, you have a vision of beautiful green eyes.

  


* * *

 

**_“What in the world possessed you to do this, Abaddon.”_ **

_“I understand that you’re angry, but I do not regret my decision.”_

**_“Whether you regret it or not is none of my concern—only the fact that you have deliberately disobeyed me!”_ **

_“What was I supposed to do? Her life had ended to soon!”_

**_“Many lives end too soon! Children die the day they are born or even before that—”_ **

_“Yes, but we have the power to change that—”_

**_“That is not the way of things, Abaddon! I myself cannot change what is meant to happen—and neither can you!”_ **

_“...I am sorry, Jehovah.”_

**_“Do not add to your wrong doings by lying to me. I know you do not regret your decision to save her.”_ **

_“No, I do not.”_

**_“...In your existence as Abaddon...I have never seen you act this way, Asami.”_ **

_“She is different.”_

**_“What makes her so special then?”_ **

_“...I do not know. Something about her simply compelled me to do this, to try and save her when I have done nothing but accept the fate of others.”_

**_“...You understand what will happen now, correct?”_ **

_“I will accept all forms of punishment—but nothing will ever make me regret.”_

**_“...You’ve served me for far too long. It shames me to admit that I cannot punish you too harshly.”_ **

_“Why?”_

**_“I cannot punish you for doing something as good as giving a soul a second chance, no matter the laws broken.”_ **

_“What will become of me, then?”_

**_“I have grown too fond of you, Asami—I am willing to leave that decision to you.”_ **

 

* * *

 

What feels like the next few days—but something tells you it's only really been hours—pass through your consciousness in a blur.

You’re not exactly sure if the things you see in between blackouts are real, undecided whether you should take note of them or to pin it on the assumption of an overactive mind.

You think you see the inside of an ambulance, the medical equipment you see laying around daunting, knowing the kind of state your body is in.

_You think you see a dark hallway, at the end of it a man seated on a golden throne, his eyes glowing with anger yet with an odd sympathetic light at the same time._

You think you see Jinora sitting beside you, clutching your hand tightly in her own as she stares at you with wide and terrified eyes.

_You think you see two figures arguing, one of them achingly familiar yet you can’t quite figure out why._

You think you see bright spots entering your vision at intervals, the fluorescent lights of the hospital ceiling blinding you as they rush you to what you assume is the emergency room.

You’re a little more conscious this time—which is a great feat, considering how it feels like your body is actively trying to convince you to stay asleep—so you try to take advantage of the momentary consciousness.

The attempt is futile, you’re starting to realize, because you can’t quite focus on anything—everything you see remains unknown, a nondescript smudge against a white background and your ears are buzzing with white noise.

But something at the corner of your vision catches your attention and like a magnet, you find your eyes unable to focus on anything else.

You think you see a silhouette of a person, their face against the light so you can't quite tell who they are, but something about this person just _pulls_ you in and you fight to stand up just to get a better view—not quite aware that you shouldn't be moving at all before you're reminded all too well of the pain.

You only realize that the sudden ringing in your ears is being caused by the screams coming out of your own mouth when you feel yourself being silenced by two warm hands gently cupping your cheeks.

You turn panicked eyes towards the silhouette, where the hands are coming from, and you feel an odd sense of ease when thumbs wipe away the tears that had appeared on your cheeks.

_“I have you, Korra,”_ says that same familiar voice that you can't place, before the shock pulls you under again and you're in the dark once more.

 

* * *

 

The next time you wake up though, you’re determined to stay awake. Thankfully—you feel no small amount of relief at this—it’s when you find yourself in a hospital room and not on a metal table with surgeons prodding at you.

You release a tired sigh as you sink into the bed, feeling a slight twinge run through your body that you know would be much worse when the anesthesia wears off, but you cherish the reprieve given to you at the moment. The moment doesn’t last for long though, when the mattress shifts roughly from under you and you give a low groan at the disturbance.

“Jinora,” a masculine voice warns and it only occurs to you now that you’re not alone in the room. You feel the sudden weight ease off the bed gently, and you turn your head slightly—gently, as to not aggravate your sore body—to find Jinora staring back at you sheepishly.

“Sorry,” she tells you shyly but you can still see the small twinkle in her young eyes, undeniably happy to see you awake.

You give her a weak but genuine smile, wincing slightly when you try to settle into a more comfortable position on the bed. “How long has it been?” you ask.

“Three days,” says that same deep voice. You lift your head ever so slightly, careful not to move too quickly, and scan your body.

_Everything hurts like a fucking bitch but at least I’m still whole,_ you say to yourself, eyeing the casts that cover your legs but seems to be the only severe damage as far as you can see. _Positive thoughts, positive thoughts._

Soon, the owner of the voice steps into your vision and thereby interrupting your inner pep talk. You find a man with tall stature and sporting an impressive beard, but his eyes look kind nonetheless. You watch as he moves to stand beside Jinora, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

He clears his throat. “Allow us to introduce ourselves,” he says stiffly, gesturing at the girl and himself, “My name is Tenzin, and this is my daughter, Jinora.”

“Korra,” you return, and you can’t hold back the smile you feel forming on your lips at how formal the man is acting, so you look at Jinora instead. “Yeah, we’ve met,” you say, giving her a small wink.

The man falters and you could almost see the formal facade crack right before your eyes. The look he gives you is possibly the most sorrowful expression you have seen in your life and you can already feel yourself rearing up to fight whatever apologies he may give you.

You were right. “Words cannot express how deeply sorry we are, Korra, but we are willing to do anything in return—”

You make a move to raise a hand to stop him from going any further, once again forgetting your current state, but the pained look on your face the action causes seems to be enough indication for him to stop.

“No,” you force out, after taking some deep breaths, “I already told Jinora this, but if I have to repeat it to you, then so be it—I _do not_ blame your daughter for what happened. If anything, I’m glad I'm the one that got hurt and not her.”

His faces twists visibly. “That may be, but we are still willing to try to make it up to you somehow—”

It’s the laugh that spills from your lips that stops him this time, chuckles rolling from you despite the pain it gives you. You want to shake your head, but you settle for rolling your eyes instead.

“God, I see stubbornness runs in the family, huh?” you tease, delighting in the slight blush that blooms on both the father’s and daughter’s cheeks.

You pause for a moment, thinking. “Do you happen to play any sports, Jinora?”

She gives you an odd look before nodding. “I was actually coming home from soccer practice when you—when everything happened,” she says, regret clear in her tone, but there was an underlying confusion from being asked such an odd question.

You give her a wide smile. “Looks like I’ve found someone to help me back on my feet then—or in my cleats, if you will,” you give her another wink, laughing at your own lame joke. Both father and daughter look at you like you’ve gone crazy and honestly, you don’t blame them.

You sigh. “Look, I don’t want you to _‘make it up to me’,”_ you say firmly. “But since you’re so insistent, your daughter here can go play a few games with me when I’m all healed—if she wants to, of course,” you add.

They continue to stare at you for a while and you’re starting to feel a little uncomfortable under the intensity of their gazes. But just as you’re about to open your mouth to say something, Jinora all but jumps on the bed and crushes you in a hug.

It's a struggle to take note of everything she says, words spilling from her lips at an unbelievable speed. _“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, please forgive me, I promise I'll be more careful crossing the road, I’ll play a million games with you if you want—”_

You laugh, gingerly wrapping your arms around the body splayed across yours. You pat her on the back twice.

“A million is pushing it, maybe,” you say, letting out a little _‘oof’_ when Jinora only squeezes you tighter.

“A million is _definitely_ pushing it if you keep crushing our patient like that,” says a different voice, distinctly female with teasing lilt in her tone and you feel a shock run up your spine.

Forgetting all pretense of avoiding all pain in your body, you whip your head towards the direction of that voice just as Jinora finally slips off the bed and you feel your breath being knocked from your lungs when you’re given a full view of the owner of the voice that’s been plaguing your thoughts.

And suddenly, the memories that just stayed beyond your reach are crashing into you because you’d know those emerald eyes _anywhere_ and she’s smiling at you and she’s _here._

She’s just standing there in a lab coat, casually  leaning against the doorway with a clipboard tucked into the crook of her arm like she’s been doing this her whole life and you fight the urge to slap yourself— _again_ —because the sight of her acting so normal, so _human,_ is enough to send your mind spinning.

Maybe the most obvious change you should be noticing is the distinct lack of dark horns curling above her head, but for the life—or _death_ —of you, you can’t focus on anything else apart from the bright green orbs shining back at you.

Just because they’re fucking beautiful.

“I’m not dead again, am I?” you can’t help but blurt out and then she’s visibly holding back laughter.

You don’t care that it’s _at you,_ because she’s lifting a hand to cover her mouth but you can still see the way she presses her lips in a tight line and the way the corners of her eyes crinkle ever so slightly as she fights the urge to chuckle.

You’re pretty sure you _are_ dead again and that this is heaven.

The knowing smile she gives you reaches her eyes and maybe you should be wondering if this is another elaborate dream or a trick of your mind but you’re too busy spluttering like an idiot—because the sight of her laughing is still enough to render you speechless—to try and figure it out.

“How is this even possible?” you finally decide to say.

The smile on her face shifts slightly, softening at the edges and she’s giving you that same tender look from before.

“I told you I’d find a way, Korra,” she says just as tenderly.

And if you had any doubt before, it’s gone now and you feel the weight of the situation crash into you and you’re staring at her stupidly once more.

“You!” is all you can say and she’s openly laughing this time, no longer bothering to hide behind a slender hand.

You see her eyes roll at you, but the smile on her face betrays how happy she really is. “You know, I have a name—and it's perfectly capable of being used,” she teases and you don’t care because it feels like your heart is about to burst out of your chest.

“Asami,” you breathe and with the way she's looking at you, it's no surprise you can hear the heart monitor at your side rising in pitch and frequency. You aren't the only one that notices, given the smirk Asami sends your way and you feel a blush creeping up your cheeks.

“I have no idea what’s happening right now,” says a quiet voice from your side and it shames you to admit that you honestly forgot about the other occupants of the room. You turn your head to give Tenzin a sheepish smile.

Thankfully, Asami saves you from further embarrassment, averting her attention to your visitors and giving them a genial smile.

“I'd like a moment alone with Korra, if you both don't mind,” she says demurely, but you can see the mischievous gleam in her eyes and— _damn this heart monitor!_

Tenzin nods before walking toward the doorway, wishing you farewell and promising to contact you soon as Asami steps aside to let him pass. Jinora follows suit, but not without giving you a knowing smile.

You're too busy wondering what the look on the young girl's eyes meant when you hear a lock slide into place and you find Asami leaning against the door just as her hand leaves the handle, green eyes staring at you expectantly.

You struggle to swallow the lump in your throat, before gesturing for her to come closer. “Come here, please,” you say, your voice no louder than a whisper.

She hears you well enough, straightening from the way she had slumped against the door and taking tentative steps towards you. She stays perfectly still when you raise your hands to gently cup her cheeks, fingers dancing across her features like hers had done before.

“You're really here,” you say in awe, watching her close her eyes as you continue to caress her face.

She lifts her hands to rest atop your own, her head tilting slightly as she leans into your touch.

Not too long ago, you told yourself that you were ready to die, to leave this world for how unfair it was to you.

But now, with this woman you would have never expected to come into your life—you find that you want to live for as long as possible.

Just so you can be with her.

Asami opens her eyes once again, the mischievous light coming back to her green irises, but you can still see that same tenderness she only reserves for you.

The corners of her lips curl up teasingly, a shaped eyebrow raising and you feel your heart flutter in your chest.

“You know, now that I'm human again—this means I have to follow certain rules of society,” she squints at you like she's judging you, but you feel her fingertips brush over your knuckles, as if even she can't quite believe that you're here with her either.

You raise an eyebrow at her in return, trying and failing to ignore the way those fingers slowly trail up your arms and caress the line of your jaw.

You shiver at the feeling of her fingertips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck. “Your point?” you try to say haughtily, but it comes out too softly. Asami chuckles.

“Well, being the doctor I _apparently_ am at the moment,” she says factually, yet there was no mistaking the teasing lilt in her voice, “I don't think this is proper doctor-patient etiquette.”

Contrary to her words, you find yourself about an inch away from Asami's lips, feeling her every breath on the skin of yours as she leans closer. Despite this, you stare at her incredulously.

“You care about the rules _now?”_

And then she's laughing again and you think the sight is even more beautiful up close so you can't do much else but wrap your arms around her neck and pull her into a kiss.

Asami lets go of all pretense and holds you just as tightly, hands slipping up and into your hair and tangling her fingers in the strands like it would keep you from leaving. Not that you ever would, of course.

You can feel her smiling against your lips and you feel your own growing, at least until you realize she's laughing again.

You pause to figure out why and the smile all but drops from your face when you hear the erratic beeping of the heart monitor.

With a growl, you practically throw the sensor attached to your forefinger across the room before returning your hands to their previous position.

“Shut up,” you mutter under your breath before pulling Asami in once more, muffling her laughter with your lips.

 

* * *

 

And just outside the room, without anybody's notice, Tenzin walks—runs—away with his tail tucked between his legs, completely forgoing the task of asking the room's occupants about when they should visit again.

Jinora raises her head from where she was sitting in the waiting area, watching her father rush towards her with his eyes wide and mouth almost comically agape.

Lifting her shoulders in a shrug, she smiles as innocently as she could as she falls into step beside him on the way out of the hospital.

“Told you they were a thing,” she says smugly.

Tenzin only shakes his head and Jinora can't help but laugh at how awkward her father looks.

“You're only twelve—you shouldn't be so knowledgeable about these things.”

“But literally _anybody_ could see how in love they are with each other!”

He shakes his head once more, but even he can't deny how he wholeheartedly agrees.

Maybe it was a love at first sight kind of thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you go! This has been fun, I have to admit. 
> 
> I'm very tempted to write one more chapter just so we can explore the life they have together now that Asami's human. Epilogue, anyone???
> 
> As always, any form of feedback (kudos, comment, bookmark) is greatly appreciated!
> 
> Let me know what ya'll think!


	4. Future (with me?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> grief, no matter how hard you try to push it away, always comes back and you have no choice but to deal with it.
> 
> you've never handled loss well, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg I finished it 
> 
> I'm sorry this took so long but a lot of stuff happened in the past few weeks and there was a lot of personal and family things going on but hey at least the epilogue's here 
> 
> this got really long like around 2000 more words than the last chapter and having no beta? there's bound to be a mistake in there so I'm sorry if I missed any cuz like I wanted it out asap and you guys waited long enough 
> 
> warning: this ended up a little darker than the other chapters and if you think Korra may be overreacting here, remember that she's gone through a lot of shit before and she's still dealing with the emotional and psychological effects of loss 
> 
> hope you like it!

You've always hated gloomy skies.

You remember opening your eyes upon waking into the most random of days, slowly taking in the lack of sunlight streaming through the gaps of your curtains. You would turn your head to face your window, already feeling that peculiar sense of dread upon seeing the overcast clouds blocking the sun.

You detest gloomy skies. Fear it, even.

Because every time you see the dark instead of light, you know that something is bound to go wrong.

Because at the day of your parents’ funeral, you remember the way the sun wasn't quite strong enough to shine through the looming gray.

Because the skies were the same the day you found your uncle's hands dirtied with your cousins’ blood and had the blame pinned on you.

And as you look up now, beyond the slight shadow of trees withering at the coming winter, you see the sun once again hidden behind the heavy shroud.

You feel a light touch graze the skin of your upper arm and you reluctantly tear your gaze from the sky, finding bright green eyes staring back at you worriedly.

“Are you alright?” you hear Asami ask and you tell yourself that you don't know the answer to that question—and you _know_ that you're lying even to _yourself_ because you want to say _‘no, I'm not’_ or anything else that could convey how much you want to return to any semblance of safety and warmth and just not being _here._

Instead, you give her a nod.

You can feel her eyes watching you, studying you, even when you turn your head away just to avoid her searching gaze. She once told you that you could never hide the way you feel, no matter how hard you try, because it always shows in your eyes.

At the edge of your vision, you can see her turn her attention away from you, see her eyeing the road which you both just came from. You can hear the telltale intake of breath, the slight raise of her shoulders a dead giveaway as she prepared to speak, to say something you're sure is along the lines of _‘we don't have to be here if you don't want to’_ or maybe _‘it's okay to be afraid, Korra’._

And you don't want to hear any of that, you really don't, so you reach out and hold Asami's hand in your own.

“Let's go,” you say and you sound unsure, even to yourself, but you pull her along as you walk towards your destination anyways. You're certain your grip on her hand is bordering on painful, but she doesn't mention it so you do nothing to relieve it, just for something to ground you.

You practically have the route memorized like the back of your hand, so you focus your attention on your feet. You try to convince yourself that it's because your bones are still healing and you should be careful with how you walk, not because you're looking for something to distract yourself.

You vaguely register the silence on your companion's part and a small part of you wonders how Asami feels being in a place like this. You chance a look back and you find her determinedly staring straight ahead, deliberately avoiding the hundreds of gravestones that lay around you. There's a barely noticeable downward curve of her eyebrows, like she's standing in the midst of judging stares.

You wonder if she remembers them all.

It doesn't take long for you to reach a familiar oak tree, the long shadows caused by its branches’ reach creeping across the hill beneath it, across the two lonely slabs of stone erected beside its roots.

You feel the urge to run again.

As if sensing your hesitation, you feel the hand in your own squeeze reassuringly and you release the breath you hadn't realized you've been holding. You spare Asami a glance in thanks before letting go, clasping your hands together in front of you as you force yourself to stand still.

Despite yourself, you give the gravestones a weak but genuine smile.

“Hi mom, hi dad,” you breathe quietly, as if you were trying not to wake them from inside their bedroom, as if they were laying in their mattress instead of their graves.

You feel your eyes sting.

A hand lays itself on your shoulder and you turn your head to find Asami watching you worriedly once more. “Do you want me to leave?” she asks.

You shake your head, vehemently, to convey how much you _don't_ want to be left alone.

 _Don't leave,_ you want to say. _Stay, because I don't think I can do this after so long._

She seems to understand, you think, shifting her hand to lay across your back and rubbing small circles on the space between your shoulder blades. The silent encouragement is enough for you to try again.

“It's been a while, hasn't it?” you say to them when you face their graves, feeling your lips curling into a wistful smile. “Sorry I haven't been visiting, having just gotten out of prison and all…

“...But I'm sure you both know that. You've been watching out for me, haven't you?

“I haven't been taking care of myself, I have to admit. I know you guys would kill me for all the choices I've made, for not standing up for myself and just letting bad stuff happen to me.

“I just didn't know how to deal with those kind of things, you know?”

Unbidden, a slight sob escapes your lips and the mask you've put up all but crumbles. The grief and anger you've been pushing to the back of your mind for years finally bubbles to the surface of your skin and you're practically trembling at the sheer amount of emotion that fills your being.

“I was too young,” you whimper. “I was too young to know how to be alone and to deal with people who would only fuck me over! I was only _eight_ when you both left me, for god's sake!”

And suddenly, the hand at your back leaves its place and you find Asami standing in front of you, reaching out until her hands are cupping your cheeks and it’s only then that you realize that you’re crying.

You watch almost detachedly as she reaches upwards, wiping her thumbs across your cheeks and tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear and suddenly a thought occurs to you.

“Do you remember them?”

The hands fussing over you suddenly freeze into a nearly eerie stillness.

“What?” she says, her green eyes wide.

And if you didn’t know any better, you’d think they were filled with fear.

Realization dawns on you.

“You do, don’t you?” your voice is barely beyond a whisper—as if by not speaking it out loud, you wouldn’t have to acknowledge the fact that you know you're right. You don't know why it only occurs to you now—after weeks of bliss and just being with her—but now that it has, you can't focus on anything else.

And you watch her struggle with herself, her usually bright eyes dimming, like she was torn between lying and giving you the undeniable truth.

But in the end, she nods and you think you feel your heart shattering in your chest.

You can already feel her hands trying to hold you or reassure you or _something_ but you don't care to find out and you all but push her away.

“Why didn't you save them?” you don't mean to shout, you really don't, but the tears are coming down faster than you can stop them and this day has already been fraying at your nerves since you first woke and you're losing your grip on the last strands of your composure.

And she's looking at you with desperation clear in her eyes, with her hands held in front of her like it could stop the weight of the blame you're placing on her shoulders.

“I couldn't just do whatever I pleased, Korra!” she says, her eyes begging you to understand but you can't. You should and you _want_ to understand, but you _can't._

“Then why _me?”_ you ask, wrapping your arms around your chest, like it would stop the feeling of being pulled apart at the seams. “Why save _me_ and not _them?”_

You don't bother hiding the crack in your voice, a manifestation of the aching pressure burning in your chest and you realize that it feels too much like _hate_ and you don’t want to feel that—but you feel it anyways and you have to step away because even now you realize that it’s too much.

You don’t give her time to answer. You don’t think she has one anyways, after seeing the defeated fall of her features when you turn away.

As you start to walk back to your car, you once again watch your feet, but the sight reminds you all too well of the night you found yourself in a hospital bed with bright green eyes smiling back at you, so you focus instead on the sky.

Gloomy, just like earlier.

You _knew_ it was a bad sign when you saw it earlier that day.

You hate that you were right.

The sound of frosted grass crunching beneath your feet is followed by a separate pair and you know that Asami is trailing after you. You can’t decide whether you feel relief or dread at having to face the ride back home in silence.

Beyond the cluster fuck of emotions you feel swirling in your chest, you almost feel bad for leaving your parents the way you did. They didn't deserve to see that.

And as you drive away from the cemetary, you have a vision of a different reality—of a better time—when it could've been you bringing Asami to your quaint little home under the northern lights, your father and mother _alive_ and welcoming her with open arms.

Instead, you brought them the person who inevitably decided their deaths as they lay in the ground beneath you.

It's silent as you drive to Asami’s place on autopilot, relying on mere muscle memory without paying much attention to where you’re going. It doesn't even register to you how dangerous that is because you're too busy dwelling on that alternate reality, one that could never be.

The silence becomes even more oppressing as your car rolls to a stop in front of her apartment. Neither of you say a word and you already miss the times when whatever silence that came between you two was comfortable and intimate, but it’s your fault you even have to deal with this unfamiliar tension so you don’t do much about it.

You’re staring straight ahead when you hear the passenger door click open and you almost don’t feel it when Asami leans over the console, brushing her lips ever so slightly against your cheek before stepping out of the car.

But the feeling lingers as you drive home, a distinct burning near the spot Asami had kissed you and you raise a hand to swipe at the skin of your cheek, pulling away to find moisture resting on your fingertips.

You didn’t pay it any mind earlier, but you realize it was impossible for you not to hear the light hitched breaths that came from the passenger side, to see a slender hand lifted to cover tightly pursed lips or the gentle trembling of suddenly frail shoulders.

And realizing that you were the cause of that?

Something inside of you just _shatters_ and suddenly you’re sobbing uncontrollably, shuddering breaths wracking your lungs, making you believe that your body is finally giving up on you, leaving you to fend for yourself—just like everyone else in your life.

All the while, your eyes blur with fresh tears leaking down your face but you do nothing to clear them.

Because if it meant getting into another accident—this time, you know you deserve the punishment.

Overhead, the gloomy skies begin to pour.

 

* * *

 

You've always been a vivid dreamer, you think, but not in the way most would believe.

While most would think having vivid dreams meant a wild imagination, dreams bordering on unrealistic at best and positively insane at worst; your dreams were vivid in a way that they seemed _too_ real—in which the line between fantasy and reality blurred to the point of no distinction.

You decided long ago that your dreams were detrimental to your sanity.

You remember a time when you were nine, on one seemingly ordinary night, when you woke up in a bed that wasn’t your own.

You remember slipping out from beneath the blankets and cautiously padding across the room, careful not to bump into anything in the dark of the unfamiliar room. It only occurred to you a minute later that you were in one of your uncle’s guest bedrooms.

You remember peeking inside his office after checking if there was any light creeping from the crack beneath the door.

You remember seeing the dour expression on his face when you stepped inside.

 _“Where did mama and papa go?”_ you had asked him, despite his entire demeanor screaming to be left alone.

That demeanor didn’t change—at least, you thought so, but being half-asleep didn’t help matters. If you had been more awake, you would’ve noticed the slight perk of his eyebrows and the slight curl of his upper lip. _“What?”_

You were undeterred by the sharpness of his tone, whether due to your determination to find your parents or your urge to fall back asleep, you don’t know.

 _“They said a few minutes ago that they’ll be back soon, but they didn’t say when,”_ you had clarified before a yawn escaped you, pausing to rub your eyes with the back of your hands. _“Did you see them on the way out?”_

You remember how he had stared at you, seemingly torn between silent disbelief and incredulous laughter at the situation. You didn’t understand why at that time, but you remember that moment being the first glimpse of the cruelty he was capable of.

 _“Your parents are dead, Korra,”_ he had said, as casually as if he was simply talking about the weather outside, before rising from his seat and walking out the door.

You remember stumbling back into the bedroom you woke up in, crashing into the bed with your face buried in the pillows as you cried, harder than you were at the funeral.

You weren’t crying because you had just realized how harsh and callous your uncle could be, nor were you crying because he reminded you all too well of how alone you really were.

You were crying because you didn’t know how to distinguish dreams from reality.

You were crying because after waking up from a dream filled with your father’s strong laughter and your mother’s loving smile, you actually believed that they were still alive.

 

* * *

 

You find your eyes opening abruptly as you jolt up from where you were laying in bed.

Your breaths are coming heavy, staccato inhales and even shakier exhales and you almost forget that breathing is supposed to be natural to you. You're practically sweating bullets and you should probably be worried about this bodily reaction but all you care about is the lingering fear you feel crushing your chest.

You know that you're wide awake, but you can't quite shake the feeling of your dreams being _too_ real. How it's creeping into your conscious mind and how possible it really is.

How possible it is for you to be left alone again.

And you're all but fumbling for your phone in the dark, sweaty hands blindly grasping for the device you know is resting on the surface of your bedside table because you just need to be sure, to know that your dream isn't _reality._

You curse when your fingertips glide uselessly on the screen of your phone and you only realize that you're crying when a drop of your own tears lands on the glass but you don't pay it any mind because you're desperate. Your body running on pure instinct at this point and you just _need_ the reassurance that you're _safe._

You finally get to find the number you're looking for and you blindly jab your finger on the call button, not quite awake and aware of what had happened earlier that day.

The phone rings.

And it just keeps ringing and ringing and your heart plummets down to your stomach when the events of that day crash into you, the things you've said and the hurt you've caused. Your breathing quickens even more when you realize that you might be ignored. _Abandoned,_ even.

And that thought really doesn't help you or the panic that's tearing your body between uncontrollable shaking and post mortem stillness.

 _AsamiAsamiAsamiAsami,_ her name is like a mantra in your head, as if simply thinking of her would will her into answering the call.

But, all the same, the line ends with a click.

You can hear your phone creaking by your ear as you grip it a little too hard. You feel like vomiting.

_She didn’t answer. She’s done with you. She’s leaving you._

The silence beyond the hysterics in your head is deafening, but you still jump when you hear your text tone.

You’re staring at the phone you’re holding in a viselike grip, at the screen flashing the name you’ve been chanting in your head above the hidden message. You almost don’t want to read it because the sense of dread that seeps into your bones is telling you _‘don’t do it_ — _you’ll only get hurt some more’_ but maybe a part of you is a little masochistic so you open it anyways.

You regret it immediately.

 _‘I don’t know what to do.’_ is what your screen mockingly flashes back at you and your already pathetic breathing ceases to nothing because the last piece of hope your heart was clinging to breaks into splinters and jagged shards, the sharp edges cutting you and piercing your lungs.

Your dream had blurred into reality.

 _“Fuck!”_ you scream, abruptly rising off of the bed and throwing your phone across the room with all your strength. A sharp crack echoes throughout the room when it hits the opposite wall but you don’t care to find out if it’s broken or not because you know _you_ already are.

And suddenly you feel weak. Because now, it really sinks in.

This is it. This is how you’re meant to live. You’re completely alone this time, and it’s completely your fault.

You ignore the pain when your back lands roughly on the edge of the bed frame as you fall to the floor with a thud. You pull your knees up to your chest like it would block out the world around you—but you're still stuck in your head, with your own thoughts, so maybe you're just caging yourself in.

You think you should be crying at this point, just to get rid of that aching pressure sitting on your sternum—but you can’t. Your eyes are dry as you stare at the wall your phone just crashed into, at the dimming lights of the screen displaying that final message.

Maybe you don’t deserve to cry—because that would make you the victim and you are anything but.

Maybe you should’ve stayed dead—because at least then you would be with your family again.

At least then you wouldn't have to be so alone.

 

* * *

 

You don't get up when you think you hear quiet knocking at your front door.

You think the sound is more likely a figment of your imagination, that a small part of your brain is tricking you into believing someone still actually cares for you to show up at your doorstep, but a bigger part reminds you of the fact that there's no one left.

Besides, if there actually _was_ someone at the door, what did it matter now anyways? It could be the landlord checking your apartment after your neighbors complained about a crash.

You glance half-heartedly at your phone laying on the floor by the wall. You hope that he'll leave you alone.

The knocking stops and you almost breathe a sigh of relief—you were about to, at least until you hear the telltale sound of the lock sliding open and light footsteps treading the rough material of your carpet. You can't quite bring yourself to care if someone chose this moment to break into your home and rob you of your belongings.

You also wouldn't complain if they chose to murder you in the process.

Maybe the landlord would knock again at your door—only this time, it would be because the neighbors had complained about the distinct smell of your own body rotting.

Alas, it was not to be.

Because you hear your name echo within the four walls of your room, said in the most gentle tone possible, spoken by the last voice you expected to hear at the moment.

“Korra?”

You raise your head from where it had been tucked between your knees, staring almost blankly at what you’re sure is merely a trick of your mind.

Simply because you were certain that you'd never see her again.

You watch as Asami steps closer carefully, cautiously, as if you were a rabid animal that could snap at her within a second if she so much as moved too quickly—or something stupid like that. After today, you don’t blame her.

And soon she’s kneeling in front of you and folding her legs to parallel yours. The position you find yourselves in gives you a sense of deja vu—you remember the day you had met, on the frozen lake created by your own memories, with two pairs of knees barely brushing as you sat across each other.

Suddenly, the tears you’ve been looking for are on the brink of spilling from your eyes because she’s looking at you sadly, like _she_ was the one who had hurt _you,_ and without hesitation, you blurt the words you’ve been dying to say.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, wishing you could sound stronger, when you were anything but.

“Korra…” she tries, but you won’t let her.

It doesn't matter whether she would have tried to convince you to stop apologizing, or maybe she came here just to end it for good. Whatever her purpose, you can’t allow her to stop you because you don’t know when you’ll have the courage to say the things you want to say again and you just _need_ to get this weight off your chest.

“No,” you say. “Don’t say anything yet—please, just hear me out.”

You wait for a moment, taking her lack of response as permission, before taking a deep breath.

“I messed up, Asami,” you exhale shakily. “It’s just—it’s been so long since I last saw them and it almost felt like the day of the funeral.

“And I panicked,” you admit. “I panicked because all the progress I made over the years flew out the window the moment we entered the cemetery. I thought I could do it—but being there after all this time?”

You swipe at the first tear that finally streaks down your face. “Suddenly, today, I was the eight-year-old girl who had just lost her parents.”

You shake your head. “And—at that moment—I blamed _you._ Not the hospital that wasn’t able to save them. Not the broken stoplight that failed to tell them to stop driving. Not even the drunken man behind the steering wheel of the car that hit them. Of all the people and things I could’ve blamed— _I blamed_ **_you._ ** _”_

A shattered sob escapes your lips before you could stop it. “Because you _knew_ them. You’ve _met_ them, because they had to go through you when they died—and you just let them! Because they were just two completely ordinary people among the millions you’ve seen pass by—so why would you care right?”

You’re almost surprised to find that the whimper that enters your ears didn’t come from you.

You watch Asami raise a hand to her pursed lips as she tried to cover the vulnerability that had already escaped, and for the second time that day you hate yourself for once again being the cause of that beautiful face crumbling under your own pressure.

You’re so tired of hurting her.

So you lift your hand to reach out for hers, moving an inch at a time, giving her more than enough time to pull away if she so wishes.

She doesn’t though, and for the first time since you woke up from that terrible nightmare of Asami leaving, you feel like you could breathe properly again.

“You didn’t—no, _don’t—_ deserve the blame I placed on you, Asami,” you whisper, bringing her hand up and brushing your lips across knuckles. “I’m so _so_ sorry and I would take back the hurt I caused you if I could.”

You watch her intently, your eyes boring into bright green eyes shimmering with tears, silently willing her to meet your gaze—but she doesn’t.

Instead, she’s focused on where your hands sat on your lap. Much like the time you had finished building a snowman on a frozen lake.

Asami entwines her fingers in the gaps of yours, with that deliberate gentleness you’ve noticed she was prone to use since you’ve met, like she was handling something that requires the greatest care, like something precious—like _you’re_ precious to her, even after everything.

“May I speak now?” she says after a while and it takes you a moment to realize that she's _teasing_ you. The chuckle she releases is somewhat out of place with how weak it sounds—but she’s giving you that same small smile that you love and you’re certain there’s a ray of hope shining through the gloomy skies.

And this time, you’re not crying out of grief nor frustration nor despair.

No, you’re crying out of pure _relief._

And you all but break down in front of her, your deceptively strong frame crumpling before her eyes as you fall into warm and welcoming arms. She holds you just as tightly as you cling to her, as if she was taking the responsibility of holding you together, of keeping you safe.

“I'm sorry,” she says, stroking your hair as you tilted your head to lay your temple on her collarbone, watching her intently. “I'm sorry I didn't save them the same way I did for you.”

You shake your head against her shoulder before burying yourself deeper into her arms. “You couldn't have known who they were—that you’d end up sitting on the floor at the middle of the night with the one they left behind,” you sigh, leaning into her touch. “I don’t think you fully understand how you saved me.”

You watch as she tilts her head ever so slightly to the side and you still find the sight as endearing as the first time you’ve seen her do it. “How so?” she asks.

And you can’t help but raise a hand to stroke over her features, a common occurrence between the both of you just because neither of you can really believe that this is your reality and just because you _can._

You watch green eyes disappear behind closed eyelids as your fingertips graze the curve of her cheekbone. “Because I was so ready to end my life before—and I simply accepted it when that wish was finally granted to me,” you admit. “There wasn’t a reason for me to stay—not after everything I’ve been through.”

Without your notice, your lips form a weak smile, one that she couldn't see. “You didn’t just give me a second chance at life—you also gave me a reason to _live.”_

Then you do everything in your power to avoid her gaze when her eyes reveal themselves once more, to ignore the way she’s staring at you.

You want to get rid of the insecurity you feel curling at the bottom of your stomach because those words were _too close—_ too much like a declaration of the three words you want to convey but couldn’t say because you’re still that eight-year-old kid afraid of being left alone again.

And despite that feeling in your chest whenever she so much as looks your way, with that same tender look she only reserves for you, there’s still that lingering doubt that she wouldn’t want you the way you wanted her to.

You’re scared that she would reject you—no, you're _petrified._

So you turn your head away and laugh in spite of yourself, “So, yeah, I think you’ve never truly understood.”

At the corner of your vision, you can see Asami avert her gaze, staring distantly at the wall in front of her, seemingly deep in thought. You can almost feel the familiar wrinkle between her eyebrows appearing and you have an odd sense of foreboding—a feeling that she's slowly coming to a decision.

“There are a lot of things I don’t understand, Korra.” she says all of a sudden.

And it’s your turn to stare at her in question, to which she responds with a small smile. You can’t help but think that she seems uncharacteristically unsure of herself and you’re torn between moving away in hopes of not hearing what she has to say and leaning into her as you wait in anticipation.

Her shoulders lift in a slight shrug, careful not to jostle you, _always_ careful with you.

You watch as she raises a hand, her forefinger pointing towards the ceiling. “For one, I don’t know much about being human—I’m still adjusting to the things people would usually find normal or mundane.”

Two fingers. “I don’t know how I came to be—how and when and _why_ I stopped being Asami and started being Abaddon.”

Her ring finger joins the cluster. “I don’t know why I felt the need to give you a second chance at life—and why I didn’t do the same for the ones before you. All I knew is that I had to save _you.”_ she whispers.

“But most of all,” she says, her pinky lifting as she finally meets your gaze, bright green eyes staring at you with what almost looks like complete adoration and wonder.

“Most of all, what I don’t understand is how it’s possible for me to love you as much as I do.”

You vaguely register Asami slowly lowering her hand back on her lap. You’re aware of those green orbs watching you intently, maybe willing you into speaking but you can’t do anything but stare at her at this point, your own eyes wide with your jaw slack in its hinges.

Unfortunately, she seems to take your reaction the wrong way.

She’s shaking her head and you can already feel her start to pull away from the embrace. When you want her to do anything but. You vaguely register her start to uncharacteristically ramble. “I’m sorry, I realize that had been a little unexpected for me to say at this moment and I understand if you need some space to think—”

But you don’t give her a chance to finish whatever nonsense she was trying to say. You're shaking away the initial shock you felt—because it’s like she had read your mind earlier and that lingering doubt of her not feeling the same way has all but evaporated.

And suddenly, you’re sobbing but at the same time you’re smiling so hard because you're so fucking _relieved_ and you can’t do much else but wrap your arms around her neck and then you’re kissing her, hard, like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do—and you’re totally fine with that.

It shames you to admit that it takes you nearly a minute to realize that Asami’s practically frozen in her seat and maybe that’s the only thing that’s keeping both of you from falling to a heap on the floor but how uncomfortable she’s acting just wouldn’t do.

So you pull away, both of your hands coming around to cup her cheeks and tilting her head upwards, your own eyes meeting green eyes slightly clouded with hesitation. You want to get rid of that doubt, to see the usually confident gleam in those brilliant emeralds. So you say the only thing you can say.

“I love you, too.”

And suddenly, the tension in her shoulders melts away and the little sob she releases both breaks your heart and makes it feel like it’s soaring. Her own hands mirror the position of yours and she's pulling you closer until your lips crash into hers.

It's messy to say the least, your cheeks wet with mixed tears and your lips unable to stay in contact for more than a second because you're both crying. You wouldn't have it any other way though, because you're starting to think that you'd never get tired of kissing her and this is exactly where you belong.

You don't know how much time passes because you’re absolutely lost in this little bubble you both created, the tiny space between you filled with whispered promises and sweet nothings and _‘I love you's’._

You don't think you’d ever want her to stop repeating those words.

Eventually, one of you gives in and it's definitely Asami because apparently, her derriere can't handle too much sitting on uncomfortable surfaces since she was _technically_ a newborn.

You know she's teasing you, but you pout anyways. She simply laughs at you before picking you up and carrying you bridal style towards your bed. She laughs even harder at the slight blush coloring your cheeks.

So you find yourself buried beneath your covers once more, your back molding against Asami's front as you both lay in bed.

And it's just absolutely _perfect_ at this point, the memory of her saying those three words fortified by her whispering the same by your ear.

But, knowing yourself, you can't quite end the day _just yet._

“What was that earlier?”

You can feel her trying to get comfortable on her side. “What was what?” she asks.

“You know, your text? The _‘I don’t know what to do’_ shit?” you clarify, because you're genuinely curious. The last thing you expect is for Asami to stiffen against your back and you just _know_ something's up.

She clears her throat before speaking. Twice.

“Well...like I said,” she starts tentatively. “I’m still adjusting to what you'd consider mundane.”

You're both silent as you wait for her to continue. She doesn't seem keen to, but eventually, she releases a defeated sigh.

“I’m not too familiar with the functions of this thing you call a cell phone.” she admits quietly and you feel a wicked grin forming on your lips.

“So…” you drawl and your grin grows even wider when you hear her release an exasperated groan. “You're telling me you gave me all that stress, simply because you don't know how to use a _phone.”_

You can feel her tighten her arms from where they were wrapped around your torso, as if that could convince you to stop. “Shut up,” she grumbles and you can't hold back your laughter anymore.

“All this trouble because you _don't know how to use a phone,”_ you plan on teasing her some more but instead, your laughter abruptly morphs into a rather unladylike squawk when a pale hand smacks you on the forehead.

 _“Sleep,”_ Asami requests _—demands—_ before returning her hand to its original place by your hip, now that it had served its purpose of shutting you up.

You should leave it at that, you really should, since you feel her burying her face into your hair, her lips pressing ever so slightly against the back of your neck and the feeling comforts you enough for you to actually listen—but you're _you,_ so that meant not knowing when to let things go.

“You love me,” you try to tease, but it comes out softer than intended because your heart feels way too warm and full in your chest and because you know your words are _true._

Asami sighs once more, but you can feel her smile forming against your neck. “I do,” she says as she entwines her fingers with yours, with the same warmth, the same tenderness she always shows you and _only_ you.

Sometimes, you wonder what you did to deserve her—to deserve someone so selfless and loving.

But after today, you realize that maybe you didn't have to do anything to deserve her because _she loves you_ and maybe that's enough.

After today, you realize that you'll do _everything_ to continue deserving her.

You bring your joined hands up to your lips, placing a gentle kiss on her warm pale skin, hoping to convey the promise that you swear on your life to keep.

You're almost certain that she had fallen asleep at some point, even breaths brushing against your skin and quiet snores entering your ears, making your heart swell even more in your chest.

You move your hand downwards, placing the back of hers on the space above your beating heart, the steady and strong rhythm making your words all the more sincere.

“I love you too," you whisper into the night, before closing your eyes with the promise of a bright tomorrow and no gloomy cloud in sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will I ever write something with absolutely zero angst? we'll never know!!!! but I believe addressing the topic of Asami meeting Korra's parents was necessary. 
> 
> hope you liked this one! let me know what you think! I personally had fun with this AU and I hope ya'll did too!
> 
> as always, any form of feedback (kudos, comment, bookmark) is greatly appreciated! 
> 
> thanks for reading everyone!

**Author's Note:**

> I know it looks bad but trust me on this one guys!
> 
> those who have been following me for a while know that I think angst is necessary before a happy ending so you'll just have to wait and see!
> 
> as always, any form of feedback (kudos, comment, bookmark) is appreciated!
> 
> let me know what you think! :)


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